


The Next Life

by grayorca, YearwalktheWorld



Category: Castle Rock (TV), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, Drama, Family, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Swap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-15 09:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17526032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca/pseuds/grayorca, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: AU of an AU/Crossover. The kids aren’t alright, Lieutenant.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another spinoff of _Trifecta_ , takes place after chapter eight.
> 
> And onward.

Two deaths before dinnertime.

Now that was some shit he didn’t need. But Hank Anderson knew of no better place to brood in relative privacy than the counter of Gary Kayes’ eatery. The remaining third of the android contingent on loan to the DPD still hovered at his elbow, but out of respect for his fallen partners, or some feigned indifference, Dennis wasn’t saying much. Besides assuring him the offlined bodies would be collected from the highway by one of CyberLife’s recovery teams, he went virtually silent.

His LED stayed yellow for the next hour, blinking and wheeling back and forth like a indecisive hula hoop.

Hank didn’t ask. He already knew the replacements would be en route. It had happened once before already. There was no real distress on Dennis’ part that needed absolving.

Then the air temperature rose above freezing. The blinding snow turned to rain.

——-

Enter stage left: one Pedro Aabdar.

“Hank! My main man.” Without waiting for as much as ‘hi’ by way of acknowledgement, the small time gambler sidled up to the counter. He nudged the policeman’s elbow with his own. ” _Esé_ , have I got a deal for you.”

Tempting as it was to immediately snap at him, knowing his old ‘friend’ was good for taking such abuse, Hank only heaved a sigh in its place. “Now, Pedro? Can’t you see I’m not in the mood?”

“Oh! Touchy today. …What, you on a date or somethin’?”

Predictably, Dennis said nothing to that. He knew there wasn’t anything to be gained in speaking. His eyes stayed down, hands clasped behind his back.

Glancing sidelong over his left shoulder, Hank affected a grimace. “Just - now isn’t good, okay? Too much to explain. Keep driftin’, you’ll find another catch.”

“Pft, in this weather, I should hope so.” Shrugging his hood up over his head, Pedro spared him a consoling pat on said shoulder. He spared the street a belated glance, some emotion like nervousness flickering across his face, before amending his apparent offer. “Hit me up if you change your mind.”

Dennis waited until the departing footsteps had been lost in the patter of rain before hazarding a comment: “Friend of your’s?”

“Off and on.”

Watching Gary flip burgers on the stove, steam clouding against the trailer’s ceiling, Hank almost thought that was the entirety of the discussion.

Then a familiar voice - in a very _unfamiliar_ tone - spoke up beside his opposite ear.

“Not to alarm you, Lieutenant, but that ‘friend’ may just be involved in illegal activities.”

Dennis froze, blue eyes going wide. Looking behind himself, Hank supposed his face appeared just the same. The rain had masked their footsteps, to the point even he couldn’t notice the approach.

Which, for anyone of Nick’s stature, that was saying something.

In contrast, his expression was anything but surprised. Brows lowered, mouth set in a deep frown, there was exactly zero trace of his atypical, nervous demeanor to be seen. Besides that, physically, he looked just the same as he had before.

Hank knew better than to bet on appearances. Between Dennis’ flabbergasted silence and the flat, sullen, dead eyed glare they were being subjected to, this was not the same android who had been creamed on the highway less than two hours ago.

“Or were you somehow unaware of this?”

Hank held up an index finger on automatic. “Not another word outta you before my meal is here.”

Given a command to abide by, ‘Nick’ promptly shut up.

——-

Fucking androids.

Just when you thought they had been perfected, CyberLife found a way to break the cycle. Either they introduced some entirely new series, or a variant of a preexisting class, upheaving established roles in an effort to somehow further streamline modern society more than it already was.

This didn’t feel like fixing something already in working order.

It felt like breaking it in a totally unforeseen way. Hooray for novelty.

Holding the three RK800s to a momentary vow of silence, they took a table - the one furthest away from the cart. Hank made an effort to take a few contemplative bites out of the hamburger before he dared ask what had gone wrong.

Dennis, in perhaps the most surprising move of all, broke the command and spoke up first: “They got your memory transfers, _backwards_?”

Connor - or Nick, really - sniffled, one hand going up to wipe away any stray tears that were threatening to spill over onto his face. They almost matched the screen of raindrops. He was hunched over with a look of absolute distress on his face, so unlike who he was supposed to be. “They must've, but they won't - they can't fix it now, I don't _like_ it, Dennis!”

“Worse, they _sent_ us back out in this condition.” Standing with arms folded, feet squared, without any nervousness whatsoever, the actual Connor made good use of his severe, Nordic features. He didn’t glare at anyone in particular, but that gaze was boiling enough to melt a rock. “And they have not answered our calls to be recollected.”

Nick reached out, shuffling over to Dennis as he grasped at his arm, brown eyes wide and puffy from the tears that he had stopped trying to hold back running down. To see Connor’s normally-composed face so upset was certainly a shock, if nothing else. “I wanna be myself again, this isn't good, I hate it, Dennis.”

Whimpering just like a regular puppy.

Scoffing at the insanity he was bearing witness to, Hank took a deep swig of soda. It wasn’t that he couldn’t somehow sympathize, but at the moment, there wasn’t anything he could do to change what the hell he was seeing.

Connor didn’t appear willing to entertain his disbelief. “I can only tell you this has to be an accident of some kind, Lieutenant. There’s no way CyberLife would willfully tolerate making such an egregious error.”

Finding his voice again, Dennis blinked owlishly, visibly confused with the bizarre turn of events. “How - how did it happen? How could it happen? Your coding isn’t meant to be transferable to any system that isn’t rated for it. Neither of you.”

“Well, lo and fuckin’ behold, it happened. The how doesn’t matter here and now.” Setting the drink down, along with his burger, Hank went for his coat pocket. “I’ll call those goddamn halfwits myself. After I call Fowler and tell him to do the same. CyberLife isn’t gonna have a laugh at Central’s expense.”

Nick nodded, both hands then wrapped around Dennis's arm, still whimpering away at the turn of events and the fact that for the moment, they were stuck as they were. “I don't wanna not be myself, thank you, Hank. I feel… short. Too short.”

“You’re only four inches, two centimeters shorter than this frame,” Connor deadpanned. His usual clinical air seemed intact, just beneath the simmering fury he was keeping under wraps.

“Too short,” Nick repeated, one hand wandering up to his tie with a grimace, loosening it from the way Connor normally kept the knot bound tight. His own was usually loosely done at best, before someone else stepped in to correct it. “And uncomfortable. Just wanna be myself again.”

“Well… technically, you still are.” Dennis tried for a weak smile, and reasoning to go with it. “You just don’t - look it.”

His face - or not his own, Connor's - screwed up even more at that, trembling at the thought of what he really looked like now. His voice veered higher, piqued with panic. “I don't - I don't like that, I don't wanna look any other way! I don't even like it normally, this is so much worse.”

Declining the urge to ask what he meant, Hank pretended to redial. A hundred warring questions wouldn’t get him any closer to answers here. Better to stand back and observe, however strange a sight this was.

True to (previous) form, Connor said nothing to assuage his partner’s fears. His critical look smoothed out only a bare fraction as he looked aside, ran the numbers, declining to share any predictions without being prompted for them.

Typical.

“Connor doesn’t seem too bothered by it,” Dennis noted, in due form, talking over their primary as if he weren’t present. “It’s not as though anything else is wrong with you, yeah? Your systems’ status are all in the green?”

“A-all good,” Nick stammered, shutting his eyes tight for a moment before reopening them. His hands tightened around Dennis's arm, shuffling closer to him as if it would give him more comfort. “Nothing… nothing else is wrong.”

Mindful to not feed any negative energies, Hank focused on listening for an answer on the line.

The rain kept streaming off the canopy over their heads.

——-

_This is exactly fifty-seven different kinds of messed up. Fifty-eight, if you can tell me what went wrong._

Eyes half-lidded, Connor reluctantly answered the comm request Dennis covertly sent. _You know there isn’t a way to quantify this disruption by numerical means._

 _Oh, would you just - not be such a_ robot _, just this once?_ Whatever his inner ire, Dennis outwardly kept a calm face, wordlessly glancing between them and Lieutenant Anderson. His LED was still a spinning yellow. _This has got to be unsettling you._

 _It’s not ideal._ Connor admitted, but not without some well-earned sarcasm. _But neither was the fact Nicholas thought it was a good idea to follow me over that fence._

 _I - I got scared, scared for you,_ Nick piped up, apparently having been listening in on the conversation all along. He stared at Connor with some worry, half hidden behind Dennis as usual. It must've been odd for them both, looking at themselves, essentially, hearing their voices being approximated by each other. _I wasn't thinking right, I just wanted you to be okay._

And now look where they were.

Connor declined to point out as much. Everyone’s stress levels were running a touch too high, including the lieutenant’s. It showed in his elevated heart rate and tightly-spoken words. Someone at CyberLife had finally deigned to answer the phone.

Anderson wasn't liking what they were saying.

“Now, look, I think that we’ve been pretty accommodating up until today. But if you’re really tryin’ to sell me the excuse this is somehow a legitimate twist in the program, I’d be happy to tell you all the ways it isn’t… No, I don’t want to speak to another representative. You people need to come collect your - prototypes.”

Watching impassively from his side of the table, Connor tapped a finger against his folded arm. _It doesn’t sound as though he’s getting anywhere._

Letting out another whine, Nick shook his head, a hand going up to hide his ‘borrowed’ face as if it would make him forget the change. His LED flared red between his fingers. _They won't fix us, they already said they weren't going to for now. What do we even do? We can't - stay like this, we can't._

 _We can’t do anything about it, either._ Connor raised an eyebrow. _Unless you_ want _to go play in traffic again._

Sardonic.

But it got the point across.

Nick shook his head again, giving the vacant road next to them a pained look before going back to hiding his face against Dennis’ shoulder. Just the memory of what chasing after the AX400 resulted in had to be disturbing him. _No, I don't - but I don't wanna stay like this, it's uncomfortable. I just wanna go back to how things were._

 _You and me both. This is all a little too strange._ Dennis admitted out loud what their primary was keeping so stubbornly mum about. Sparing him a disdainful glance, he patted the hand holding onto his arm. The knuckles glowed blue, they grasped so tightly. _You’ll be okay, Nick. Just… stay away from mirrored surfaces?_

“Don’t you _dare_ fuckin’ - shitbird hung up on me.” Hank’s adamant cursing cut off any ensuing banter. Giving his offline phone a disgusted glower, he stuffed it back into his coat. “Sorry, boys. This might not be gettin’ solved as fast as we hoped.”

Nick buried his face deeper at the revelation, one distraught eye still peaking out, even if they could all guess that was the direction the conversation was heading anyways. His hand on Dennis's arm let off slightly, trembling against him instead. “Not - soon? We're… stuck?”

“Only temporary, think of it that way,” Hank tried for some consolation. “Fowler’s gonna get an earful from me, once we’re back. He can go all the way up to the commissioner if any issue concerning the department becomes serious enough. But I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

Connor stopped tapping his finger, his expression finally betraying some version of concern. _‘Serious enough’? As if we… pose some kind of danger now?_

Dennis shook his head, sparing them all a most tiresome look. _Don’t speak too soon, Connor. We don’t know what the long term implications of a swap could be._

 _Long term…_ Nick trailed off, before a choked sob left him, tears beginning to flow again at the idea of staying swapped into the wrong bodies for any longer than they already had been. _I don't want that, please, I - I don't know what to do._

“Christ. What are you two fillin’ his head with?” Meal abruptly forgotten, Anderson circled over to the crying android’s free side. “I told you, knock off that private chatter shit. You wanna be the bearer of bad news, you say it out loud.”

“Oh. Another ‘life lesson’, sir?” Dennis tried to lighten the blow with a joke, something to offset the standoffish glare replacing itself across their primary’s features.

Head turning to look up at Hank as he kept crying, Nick hiccuped and shuffled toward him, now not such at an even height with the man, seeming all the meeker for it. “Nuh… number four, then? Say your b-bad news out loud.”

That wasn’t hyperbole? It was something the lieutenant was holding them to?

Hank confirmed as much with the next breath: “Better out than in. You got it, kid.” Without as much ceremony, or any hesitation, he pulled him into a one-armed hug. “Quit fussin’. You’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” Nick breathed out, arms automatically wrapping around Hank as well, head leaned against him. Totally unabashed in the need for reassurance - it was definitely him. The contact seemed to at least calm him down a little bit. “I'll… be okay.”

Squinting, Connor dug his fingertips into his damp sleeve. The sight was equal parts striking and befuddling.

‘Okay’ was the best they could reasonably hope for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little unease and quiet.
> 
> Kinda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As selected by the folks at the _Detroit: Become Human_ Official Amino.
> 
> Pop over there if you want a vote in the next installment.

Stay away from any mirrored surfaces, Dennis said.

He obviously hadn’t looked at Detroit in the year 2038 all too closely. If he had, there was no way he would be dispensing such inane advice, and expect them to take it seriously. Every few feet in this city, there was a storefront window or a one-way display or a shiny new Swish sports car or an android parking station or a handheld device of some kind - all of which anybody could catch their reflection in.

Despite Hank telling him to quit fussing, trying to be some kind of reassuring, Nick felt as if he couldn't help it every single time he caught a glimpse of his own image - no, not his own, Connor’s. It was still just as terrifying and confusing to see the face reflected back at him, it’s expression aghast and distraught in a way he had never seen the actual Connor.

It was wrong, more wrong than he had even felt when he first was brought online, looking at his reflection. Being in the wrong body made everything seem more uncomfortable than ever before - everything from the height difference to the voice that came out when he spoke, to even seeing Connor in his body, looking and sounding practically unbothered by the head-spinning experience.

Catching himself again in a reflection again momentarily, Nick swallowed hard and shut his eyes, turning back to Dennis in an attempt to hide himself.

Blasted trash can was too reflective.

What could he do differently? It wasn't as if they could stop their lives for this - no one would allow it, even if they wanted to. All he could do was shut his eyes and try to breathe the best he could, try to get as comfortable as he could.

Hand blindly going back up to his tie, Nick tugged the knot til it was practically undone, letting it hang with some relief afterwards.

Dennis had gone mostly quiet since the reveal at the Chicken Feed. Besides chancing a few remarks, it finally seemed to be setting in for him just how wrong this ordeal was shaping up to be. And he was probably very secretly glad they weren’t a quartet instead of a trio.

Then everyone would really be at a loss.

Dispensing with the snarkiness, Dennis waited until Hank and Connor had turned away to discuss the next move before risking a comm. He set a hand against his back, squeezing one shoulder gently.

_Relax, Nick. C’mon, I know it’s still you. But if your stress levels stay piqued above ninety percent much longer, the strain is gonna start affecting your biosystems._

Nick let out another helpless whimper before attempting an answer back, clinging onto Dennis as much as he could. _I'm trying, I promise. Just - don't wanna see myself anymore, don't like the tie and stuff. Makes me feel bad._

Inside and out. The aforementioned strain was already making itself known as a steadily-intensifying headache. Coupled with an underlying dizziness as if the blood pressure in his false veins was starting to dip.

This wasn’t right. It wasn’t.

How could CyberLife do this to them?

_So, keep your eyes shut. Don’t talk, if you don’t want. …But you know you can’t just hide in there forever. We can’t fix it if you do._

How could Dennis fix this? How could any of them fix it? Only when CyberLife decided they could, would things go back to normal. Who knew when that would be? Keeping his eyes shut was the best thing he could do to try and calm down the best he could.

 _I don't wanna hide,_ Nick said back, but really, what else could he do? His headache and dizziness were already feeling like too much to handle, anything else would just make it worse. _But I don't - feel good, Dennis, I don't think I can do anything else._

 _You can try and relax. Just forget about everything for a bit. Unplug, y’know? Humans meditate to cope with stress, they untune themselves…_ from _themselves._

Pause.

_Sorry. I’m guessing that makes exactly zero sense right now. But I’m doing my best._

_Thank you, Dennis._ Even if there was no way Nick could really imagine being able to somehow tune himself out of his thoughts, it was a kind gesture, to try and suggest. He cracked his eyes open to look at him, half lidded just in case he could accidentally catch a look at ‘himself’ again. _I really appreciate it, I'm… I'm relaxing, I promise._

 _You sound it, vaguely._ Hand still on his shoulder, Dennis’ gaze went to the undone tie. He raised an eyebrow, undoubtedly thinking of the same neck accessory cinched around his collar. _Did that help, too?_

 _Sorta. Feels more like… me,_ he admitted. And not nearly as choking as before, even if there was no possible way he could do so. He tugged at it again almost self-consciously. How odd must it look on someone like Connor? _Made me feel better._

 _Whatever does it for you, Nick. It’s not like he doesn’t have your’s for the time being._ Taking another poignant pause, Dennis chuckled under his breath. _It sounds funny when I put it like that._

He couldn't help but smile at the sound of his partner laughing. Anything lighthearted was greatly appreciated, at such a time, and the remark did sound a bit funny. _That's true, at least. I'm sure he's probably tightening it instead._

Seated as they were on the park bench, their company had taken quite the opposite stance - leaning on the steel railing of the boardwalk, overlooking the Detroit River. By their body language it didn’t seem like either man or swapped-out machine were too outwardly bothered.

The only sign of trouble was in the way Connor seemed to with his face angled down. His shoulders were arched up like a disgruntled feline’s, elbows balanced on the railing.

Yet another analogy that made total sense when those said the RKs got along like a mixed litter of cats and dogs. The ratio of which was what was forever changing.

Looking at the back of his head, Dennis could only discern so much. _If he hasn’t yet, he will be. And searching for the nearest comb._

At the reminder of hair, one of his one hands wandered up, shaking it out of the combed back, near-perfect look that Connor kept it in, instead letting it fall in disarray. _Well… I guess that only makes sense. Might as well - be as comfortable as we can be, while we're this way._

_He says anything about it, I got your side on this. You don’t wanna self-destruct in that body any more than he does your’s._

_Thanks, Dennis._ He definitely didn't want to self-destruct, not when he was just beginning to feel a bit better, some of the dizziness ebbing away from being able to make at least minor changes to his appearance.

At the end of the day, it was only affecting a slightly-different look, right?

No reason they couldn’t compromise.

——-

With a few hours to think behind him, and possibly a few beers going by the man’s breath, Hank Anderson had temporarily turned from his usual, gruff, disbelieving, anti-android self into a wannabe guidance-counselor.

Thus far, Connor was not impressed with the lieutenant’s attempts to rationalize the abrupt switcharound in their program.

About an hour after arriving at the park, under cover of dark, Hank had gotten the hint: “All right, fine. Jesus, enough with the silent sideeye treatment. What am I sayin’ wrong?”

Arms braced on the railing, actually somehow at ease in a slouching posture he normally would have never exhibited, Connor snorted and turned his eyes to the Windsor skyline (it didn’t mind being glared at from such a distance).

“You’re assuming there’s a fix to be found, Lieutenant, as if this is an error in need of correcting. But suffice it to say, if CyberLife will listen to neither the department or any of us, it’s because this is very much intentional.”

“That's bullshit,” Hank argued, adamantly shaking his head at the idea, as if it were completely absurd - which it was, at a glance. “What would they even gain from this? The hell is the point? You're obviously pissed, he's breakin’ down over there - this ain't workin’, whatever it is.”

“And rather than stress about all the unknowns, why don’t we simply accept what it is, for now?” Connor made a point to keep his loaned voice monotone, simply to drill the idea in. “CyberLife will recall us when they see fit. Meanwhile, we still have our cases to process.”

“Fuck that. There's no way you two can do cases like _this_.” Anderson gestured at him, up and down as if to show how all of it was wrong, face twisted with some anger at the situation. He had clearly given up any attempt at convincing the two displaced androids they needed to go beat down CyberLife’s doors. “You honestly expect this to not - impede anythin’? There's no way we can just accept this as is.”

“Perhaps he can’t.” Motioning with his eyes, Connor indicated the occupied park bench - without looking directly at the out-of-body frame that should rightly be his. The less he looked, the better. “But I intend to stay on task at least.”

Hank bristled at that, eyes narrowing as he took a step toward him. “No, I ain't takin’ that. We're not accepting this is just what it is now, Connor, this isn't you, and that isn't him. There's no accepting somethin’ like that, not in the long term, and barely in the short.”

“As though you have any room to talk, Lieutenant,” the android snapped, pushing off the railing to stand at full height - eye to eye with the human who once towered over him. “Your kind has written untold numbers of stories featuring this very scenario. But no human has ever actually lived it. Who are you to decide what is or isn’t acceptable?”

“Jesus Christ, you wanna start pretendin’ this is okay, is that what you wanna do? First off, you two didn't even choose this, so there's a violation of your consent to this mind-alterin’ shit,” Hank spat the words out, redirecting some of his anger to Connor the instant he snapped. “And, second, even if you're hellbent on not showin’ it, you're not happy with this. Then we've got Nick cryin’ his heart out over it, and you wanna tell me I can't make a judgement call?”

“Make your call, Hank. It doesn’t _change_ anything.” Catching the informal use of a first name, his borrowed voice seemed to catch and slip into embarrassed silence. Eyes darting, unsure of just where the impulse had stemmed from, Connor clenched his hands, taking a beat to recompose himself. “If it did… this matter would already be solved.”

“That's the problem: it should already be solved, because this isn't doin’ anyone any good, Connor.” Some of Hank's anger seemed to leave, perhaps sensing the unsure moment of him, willing to step off a bit if he saw the reasoning. “It doesn't make any sense _why_ they would do this, especially with the two of you. You’re on opposite sides of a goddamn mirror. It can only be to your disadvantage.”

Was that true, though? Was it only a colossal mishap, an error masquerading as a deliberate act? No one who knew was seeing fit to tell them, and that was the terrifying unknown about it. The only one who thought they knew was a middle-aged malcontent with little to no sympathy for androids to begin with.

No. It didn’t make sense… but maybe, that was the point?

It wasn’t supposed to.

But he wasn’t supposed to admit to that. He was supposed to be something of logic and reason. He was supposed to abide by the rules, no matter how unfair someone else claimed they were. He was made to adapt, but not turn everything he was programmed to think inside out to fit some unintended purpose.

He wasn’t supposed to be _afraid_ to complete his mission.

Being afraid of anything at all was tantamount to failure.

“It… doesn’t make sense.”

Eyes on the ground, it was as close as he could get to an uneasy confession. All too suddenly, meeting Hank’s eyes again felt like something he was unworthy of doing. Misguided as the human’s intentions might be, he also had confidence in his side.

Confidence he was in the right.

Meanwhile, Connor didn’t know where he was.

“Sure.” Hank sighed, taking another step forward till they were even closer, before the android could think to move aside. “You got that right at least, kid.” A hand clasped onto his arm, patting it a couple of times with some kind of comfort clearly in mind.

Small comfort.

Better than none at all, he supposed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was unenlightening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As selected by the folks at the _Detroit: Become Human_ Official Amino.
> 
> Pop over there if you want a vote in the next installment.

The springtime garden was only slightly more accommodating than reality. Normally report mode was a state one entered only when deigned absolutely necessary. Sequestered as their mismatched frames were at Central Station (aka the safest place for them, short of following Hank home, once they ascertained one Gavin Reed was absent), now was as ideal a time as any to experiment. Had their mind palace avatars been affected, too?

Yes, and no.

——-

“For the sixth time, Nick: don’t look at it.”

Five feet away from the pond’s murky edge, Nick froze, letting out a sniffle as he did so. How was this fair? He just wanted to see the koi. They helped calm him down, made him feel better about any situation he was in. 

If only they would recognize him as well, now. 

“But I - I just wanna see them,” he stammered out, reluctantly taking a step back from where he was trying to head - the edge of the pond. “I'm too stressed, they can help.” 

Dennis was wrong. He had to be. Here they were, back in the garden with the right bodies, the right voices. Why would his reflection here not be just as correct?

“You see how they’re acting, though?” Gesturing toward the water, the shorter android looked equal parts pitying and frustrated. “If they’re anything like trying to feed the doves, they’ll swim away from you as soon as look at you.”

He knew that would only make him feel so much worse than he already did as well, having his one constant comfort in the garden seemingly abandon him, even if he was tempted to try anyways. 

Nick turned from it after another uneasy moment, hunched over as he always was, in his own body. That was a reprieve at least, even if his reflection would be different. If he could avoid that, maybe this would be better. 

“Okay.” What else could he say? Dennis was right, the koi wouldn't recognize him. Better to just avoid that with some small hope than have it completely shattered. 

“I know, it’s not ideal. But you don’t need any more disappointments.”

Counterpointing the compassionate words was the rather-indifferent clinks and clicks of a quarter being played with. Facing away from the water, and his partners besides, Connor seemed unusually engrossed with his solo episode of roundabout.

It was unusual in that he had to actually _watch_ the coin. Flicking it from hand to hand, balancing it across one set of knuckles, then the other, his expression was one of intense preoccupation.

Like he was assuring himself he could still perform the feat.

Maybe that was his fault. Playing roundabout never was his strong suit, coordination only becoming worse the longer he was online - maybe Connor was worried that had somehow transferred over to him. 

Nick watched him grapple for a second before turning back to Dennis, until he was back behind him with hands on his arm and shoulder. “It's nice to… be myself, though. Even if it's only for a little bit.” 

“Enjoy it while you can,” Dennis muttered, on the off chance Connor was only faking looking busy. “You two think this is dizzying on the outside, try being someone keeping who is who straight. We don’t even yet know how the station’s going to handle this.”

The station, what would they all think? People already had their expectations about who would act like what, they had already been there long enough to establish that. This was going to throw everyone off. Who knew how the office would react? 

His grip on Dennis tightened with the dread that was having to face new people, all over again. “S-sorry. I don't - I don't want to confuse you, I'm just confused, too.” 

Confused and as inept as ever, one might say.

Announcing her presence with only a light footstep and a rustle of robes, Amanda ghosted out from behind the rose-entwined spire at the island’s center.

The coin flipping halted immediately. A fleeting look of unease crossed Connor’s face, but he hid it in the act of stowing the quarter in his lapel.

“Gentlemen. I see you’ve finally found time to visit.”

“Amanda, why - why did they switch us?” Nick asked, deciding to just get straight to the point. What else was there to be asked, then just what was going on? It wasn't fair, whatever it was. They deserved to be in their own bodies, no matter what. 

Her eyebrows went up, but otherwise her face betrayed no shock at his forwardness. “Why, because they felt it somehow necessary. Both of you showed blatant disobedience in Ravendale.”

At that, Connor’s eyes narrowed.

He needn’t say anything. Their overseer sensed his disagreement without turning around. Letting him have only a brief pause to think, she glanced over her shoulder.

“Lieutenant Anderson instructed you to not pursue the deviant. Why did you disregard his order?”

Dennis made a derisive sound best described as half sigh, half scoff. “The frustration is getting to him?”

“And it's not fair, to talk about this, right now,” Nick argued, bolstered by the fact that Dennis was at least trying to find an explanation as well. “We have… bigger issues.” 

“Our investigation into deviancy has made next to no progress,” Connor pointed out, as contradicting as ever. “Dead or alive, that AX400 would have made a valuable specimen.”

“And the little girl it was seen in the company of,” Amanda mentioned, always content to talk business over feelings. Presumably, they would get back around to the topic of the mind swap. “You ascertained it was not Todd Williams’ biological daughter?”

“Another deviant - a YK500, registered as Alice.” Droll in relaying his otherwise-punctual report, Connor glanced away. “The sales records revealed as much. His ex-wife and child were accounted for in Midtown.”

Dennis scoffed again, putting his free hand on a hip. “So he still went after them, against Lieutenant Anderson’s orders, and that’s cause enough for CyberLife to transplant-transfer their programs?”

“We - no, can't they just change us back?” Nick tried for pleading, even though he knew it wasn't going to get them anywhere. When had she ever listened to it before? “Whatever they wanted us to learn, something like that, we can do it some other way. Not like this, please.” 

“How can you be expected to learn anything if you cannot even define what lesson it is you’re in need of?” Levelly, Amanda folded her hands. “You, in particular, Nicholas, were not ordered to follow once Connor climbed the fence. You knew the chase was doomed to failure, and went anyway.”

“I…” There wasn't any good explanation he could give as to why he had done so, just a blinding panic that made him need to go after Connor, even though she was right - it was doomed from the start. “I dunno. I couldn't just stand there, I had to… go after him.” 

“You both erred, in your own ways,” she went on, as only an awkward silence descended on the island. Besides the occasional splash of an agitated koi fish, the garden was deathly still. “It was decided a change of pace may simply be in order.”

“Change of _pace_?” Coughing in feigned disbelief, Dennis shook his head. “This is a bit more than anyone would think necessary, Amanda.”

“This isn't just a change of pace to us, this is our lives. They can't just - take us out of our bodies, give us a new one, or put us in someone else’s, that's not right. Please, we can't stay like this any more.” Nick sniffled again, half on the verge of tears. He would take almost anything to just be back how he was supposed to be, inside and out - and to think he used to find his ‘old’ self uncomfortable. 

Amanda remained unmoved. Her expression only darkened a shade. It wasn’t as though she had the power to change anything. She was there to relay the bad news, nothing more.

But in the next breath at least she did offer a razor-thin strand of hope: “Acclimate in the short term, and we’ll reassess in a week’s time. How much of a punishment it is or isn’t… is entirely up to you.”

The next blink, she was gone.

The silence lasted all of ten seconds before Dennis unapologetically smashed it.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

——-

Connor didn’t think to tattle on his partner’s private usage of foul language. For the moment, his priorities had been reshuffled. Exiting report mode, he lapsed straight into stasis, still standing in one of the recharge stations. The squad room’s may not be tall enough to accommodate him, now, but he would make due.

In retrospect, it was a bad idea. Nick was never one given to using such a feature to recharge. He preferred to slump over a desk, like a regular slacker in a corporate office.

The clock had just hit 9:21 AM when Connor figured out his mistake.

He went back online to Gavin Reed snapping fingers in his face.

“Hey, Nicky boy! Funny, you actually looked like a robot there for a bit. First time for everything, eh?” Reed stepped back, grinning at him as he came to.

Truthfully, Connor did immediately feel the pique of distress. He leaned away from the snapping digits, looking sidelong at the sneering human. Not as though Lieutenant Anderson had left them with a plan to break the news, at large, but as far as the here and now went…

He could feign cowardice as well as any other emotional simulation. Maybe not totally, but just enough.

“What do you want, Gavin?”

Gavin's eyes narrowed at him, taking another step forward after a moment. “Just checkin’ in on you, can't a guy do that? Heard you and Canner took a tumble in traffic. And they sent you both back? Surprising.” 

So it was either some kind of misguided concern, or just making sure his resident whipping boys hadn’t been decommissioned. Neither scenario made the detective seem all the more endearing.

“His name is Connor. And CyberLife made the repairs one might expect to both of us. What’s so surprising about that?”

Not like it wasn’t the first time this particular chassis had been replaced.

“The hell's with your - attitude adjustment?” A hand went up and pushed him back a bit, arms crossing afterwards as Gavin glared (up) at him. Evidently, he wasn't liking the difference. “They muzzle your whinin’, or something?” 

“I thought I asked you a question first.”

“And I think I don't answer questions from fuckin’ androids, not ones who I made cry not even a day ago. Seriously. What'd they change about you?” His gray eyes widened for a second, before narrowing again - as if he had gotten an idea. “...How come you're actin’ like Canner?” 

Well, drat. He didn’t act the coward fast enough. But Hank didn’t say anything about keeping their reversed condition secret for very long, correct?

Once told, Captain Fowler would inform the rest of the station before long.

And if Gavin already suspected, they may as well not keep him preoccupied from his other tasks, wondering about it.

“Why do you think?” Raising an eyebrow for effect, Connor tried to step past the man. “You’re the detective. You guess.”

“Wait, _wait_. No, they didn't, did they?” With that, Gavin sidestepped into his path, one hand up to force him to stop or run into him. Staring up at him again, studying the decided lack of expression, the man let out a chuckle at whatever tells he was seeing. “Oh, shit, they _did_. Christ. Where's Nicky boy, then? They shove him in your body?” 

“Please, don’t get any ideas.” Deadpan as the request was, Connor would be remiss not to try. Again, he need not say yes to actually confirm what Gavin already suspected. “The experience is distressing enough for him.”

“C’mon. A strong enough breeze would distress him, jumpy as a goddamn chihuahua,” Gavin said, rolling his eyes at the indirect admission. He wasn't one to care whether he was distressing someone or not - or, he was, but for all the wrong reasons.

At the very direct glare his words drew, he sighed. “I ain't gonna do anythin’, relax, big guy. Least you actually _look_ intimidating now, eh? Maybe they switched things around so you’d stop confusin’ everyone.” 

For all their talk the previous night of trying to get comfortable with their new reality, that comment certainly broadened perspectives. Connor didn’t think he ever struck anyone as confusing, with the exception of Hank Anderson. Why did having a different face suddenly clarify anything?

The sentiment made his borrowed tear ducts sting. Wincing, Connor blinked hard to force the sensation back. He wasn’t that fragile, even if this body had long been tuned to such impulses. “CyberLife is working on the issue. That’s all you need to know.”

“Sure. Guess I'll have to switch just who I start talkin’ to, now.” Reed stepped out of his way, still with a grin. Like everything else in life, this was just one more joke to him. “You really aren't playin’ around.” 

Connor said nor emoted anything, besides a glance away.

If that was supposed to be a compliment, it still reeked of thinly-veiled insult, and worse implications.

——-

Once upon a time, Hank Anderson might have elected to stay outside the lot’s chain link fence. Grumbling something about “being too old for this shit” or the like, he surprised all concerned in asking for the wire cutters.

Standing on the other side, having crawled his way through underneath, Connor raised an eyebrow. The cutters were still on his hand. “Lieutenant, I’m familiar with the premises. You don’t need to accompany me.”

Hank extended one hand for the tool, impatiently gesturing. “Yeah, sure, I don't. First scene after all this goin’ down, you wanna be a glory hog? Hand them over. You ain’t goin’ in alone.” 

Rotating the instrument around, Connor threaded them back out. It would take Hank at least a few minutes to snip enough links to peel the barrier aside.

He grabbed them from him, raising an eyebrow at him as well before beginning to cut his way through the links of the gate. “Don't go too far, if you're goin’ in, then.” 

Wasn’t that why they were here? To see if the former gardener model who had harbored the deviants was still around? The patrolmen assigned to watch the house in the interim had reported no visitors, in or out. The WR600 likely had not uprooted yet.

Connor glanced at the boarded-up windows, noting their sopping-wet surroundings. The rain hadn’t abated. He didn’t detect any new footprints in the mud. But standing there, waiting for Anderson to join in, felt like asking for trouble, somehow. Like they were just giving their suspect an unnecessary head start.

Wordlessly, the android went for the door.

Hank said not to go far.

He didn’t say don’t go inside.


	4. Chapter 3.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any poll that includes Connor and Hank is bound to be lopsidedly biased.
> 
> So here we are.

It didn’t matter if he had spent a grand total of a month around the place: Central Station was extremely lacking on feasible hiding places.

Namely because people working there didn’t clock in and then immediately intend to duck and cover. Police work typically didn’t involve it - unless you were being shot at.

Today was not in any way typical.

——-

_Act natural._

Sparing Nick only two words of precious ‘advice’, and the most sympathetic frown ever, Dennis closed the door to Fowler’s office.

It wasn't anyone's fault that he was left alone, but it still didn't feel any better to be stranded in the squad room with nowhere to go. The desk Hank let him use was an option, but that still felt too open for him to try and go relax there.

He took a hesitant step back from watching Dennis through the glass door, looking around for a convenient out. Where was somewhere secluded enough he could just put his head down and wait for Dennis or Connor, or even Hank to come find him?

The break room seemed like his safest bet, by a long shot, hopefully. Giving Dennis one more hesitant look, Nick wrapped his arms around himself, put his head down and made his way over.

It might work. He could find the farthest table from the door and just sleep this off. Or at least, that was the plan at first. It didn’t matter if he had already clocked six hours of stasis that morning. More was looking better all of a sudden.

At least no one could bother him in that mode.

Trekking his way across the open doors of the break room, Nick froze for a moment, before shutting his eyes tight and letting out a whimper. Much as he was the worst rated member of his group, he knew as well as every other android did when other people were in a room.

Two _humans_ in the break room. Said people were haunting their usual table: Gavin Reed and Tina Chen.

The former took one look at his lost composure and scoffed, half in an outright laugh.

“What’d I tell ya, Chen? Look at ‘im. Not even fifteen seconds without someone to hold his hand, there he is - verge of meltdown. Again.”

Nick shook his head frantically, trying to find some way that would make Gavin leave him alone, even if that was nigh impossible. He didn't need someone holding his hand, but this, the switch and having no feasible way to make it better, maybe it did make him want someone with him.

Especially when having to face up against Gavin, their harshest critic. He raised his eyes to the two of them, unable to help a whine from escaping him. “No, I - I won't, I don't need that, please, don't.”

Vindicated, as if he were convincing those around the station who did not believe it possible, one at a time, Gavin sneered. Chen, for her part, only frowned. “So it’s either a hell of an impression program he’s runnin’, or that’s what Canner looks like after a rough night. What happened, tin can, crying over losing your comb?”

Nick took a shaky step back from them, one hand going up to chew on his nails, the other to his hair at the mention. The desk, once thought of as too open, now seemed wonderful compared to keeping himself in here with Gavin, no one else to guide him out. “No, no - I just - feel stressed, please, leave me alone, just wanted to sleep.”

For a blessed moment, the ribbing abated. Gavin scoffed into his coffee cup, raising it for a nonchalant sip. He never took his eyes off the panicking android.

Almost as though he were savoring the image, committing it to memory.

Tina Chen - either in an act of mercy or just out of plain curiosity - asked what any half-decent person would, “Didn’t you recharge already?”

“E-Earlier, yes,” Nick admitted, hiccuping with latent tears that were beginning to reside, thankfully. Crying in front of Gavin, because of Gavin, always made the man seem all the more happier. “Just… gonna wait for Dennis to come find me. Or Connor, or Hank.”

Wordlessly paying Gavin’s smug visage a glance, the woman’s expression turned approximately sympathetic. She wasn’t on familiar terms with Hank Anderson or the RK800 program in general, but she evidently knew a messed-up scene when she saw one.

“Grab a chair from the other table, then. You can sit with us.”

Sit with them? With Gavin?

Nick shot him another fearful look, before nervously shuffling closer to Tina. It wasn't as if he was really going to refuse her, even with how jumpy and upset he felt. She didn't really know exactly what he looked like before, right? Maybe this wouldn't be too bad.

He pulled a chair from the other table over quickly, making sure to set it down beside Tina instead of Gavin, before hopping on and immediately putting his head down, arms crossed to cushion it.

Gavin made another scoff. “Really, Ti? Why the olive branch?”

“Why not? Guy’s got enough to worry about without you pilin’ it on. Lay off.” He felt a hand touch his elbow - thin, delicate fingers. “It’s Nick, right? I don’t think we introduced ourselves.”

Nick raised his head, just so his eyes were visible and nodded at her slightly. She was… nicer, than Gavin, much nicer to want to invite him to sit with them, to talk to him even. Maybe she could just be someone nice to sit with, even if Gavin was there as well. “I'm… yes, I'm Nick. And you're… Tina?”

She smiled, a thin curve that didn’t distort her features too drastically. Patting his elbow by way of greeting, she motioned to the badge with her other hand. “I came with the badge, same way Hank says you guys did, right?”

Over her shoulder, Gavin rolled his eyes at the appropriated joke, but he couldn’t accuse her of a theft she just admitted to.

Nick peered up a bit more, raising his head to smile back at her, even if it was still a little shaky and nervous. No reason he couldn't contribute to the conversation, especially one as gentle and easy going as this one. “He says that sometimes, yeah. He's… he's nice. I like him.”

“Christ, do you not understand how trippy it is to hear Canner say that?” Gavin interrupted, before their talk could evolve into anything more disgustingly pleasant. “I mean, I know you can’t help it, but still.”

Nick put his head back down in an instant, unwilling to refute any of what he said. How could he? It probably was incredibly confusing to hear Connor's voice have the emotion he put into it and say the things he said. He still didn't like the reminder, though, that it wasn't his voice coming out when he talked.

Wait. Not his voice - but maybe, it could be? Connor did it once, he was sure, changing his voice to another android's as if it were the easiest thing in the world. If he could do it, Nick could, right? They were the same make, same model, supposed to be able to do the same thing.

Tina, evidently noticing his change in expression, nudged his elbow again. Her eyes went from gentle to a mite suspicious. “You’re gonna pull some android trick, aren’t you?”

Sitting up, he nodded a bit nervously, opening his mouth a few times before going for an attempt, imagining just what his actual voice sounded like. The pitch fluctuation wavered mid-sentence. “Can - can change… my voice, if I want. Didn't remember until now.”

Deepening into a default monotone at first, just the way Connor's had, before slowly going back to his own slightly-higher falsetto, before it was himself again by the end - the change relieved him so much he let out another actual whimper, head going back down in his arms.

A pause ensued, then Gavin gave a few sarcastic claps for effect. “That was me celebrating vicariously for you. …Seriously, Nicky, what’s your damage? Besides puttin’ on the wrong body.”

He tried not to flinch - unsuccessfully. Hank had asked as much before, at Ortiz’s, wanting to know what his story was.

If there was anything more about him, he didn't know it. How could he? It was just - issues he needed to work through, to make himself better for CyberLife. For some reason it was just incredibly challenging for him, much more so than anyone else it seemed.

“Nothing, just - issues,” he mumbled afterwards, still almost getting used to his own voice again. “I dunno. I'm trying, but it makes it worse.”

Predictably, the detective only raised an intrigued eyebrow. Oh joy. Here was a mystery he wanted more of an answer to. “Yeah? How exactly does that work? You haven’t typed one report since you got here.”

He shrugged helplessly, not sure how to explain himself. “J-Just, bad, when we go out. I feel… dizzy, inside, when we go to any scene, can't think straight and get too scared to try anything, just…”

He trailed off with another helpless shrug, unwilling to reveal anymore. How could he? It didn't make any sense, not even to himself. What were the odds it would to them?

“Huh. And you still feel that way, now? You don’t think Canner’s - _system_ could handle it better than yours?”

“I dunno. Maybe, but I just - wanna be myself again. It's not _me._ It already… felt bad, before, this is just so much worse.” It was odd to admit so much to two humans like this, one he barely knew, and one that frightened him. But at the same time, it was nice to have someone he could try to explain to that wasn't so invested in his life and story.

Telling Dennis, or Connor or Hank that everything always felt uncomfortable, even his own body, was concerning, he knew. Gavin and Tina wouldn't show the same level of questioning and concern, hopefully. It wasn’t exactly like talking to a vastly-indifferent Amanda. Some middle ground between the two might be the safest place for such a discussion.

Tina’s hand alighted on his shoulder again, squeezing gently. “You’re out of your depth, it sounds like. Like you were… made for the wrong field. CyberLife says you’re all prototypes. But… there are various kinds of law enforcement, maybe if investigation isn’t your forté, something else may be?”

“Maybe, I - I hope.” Maybe that was what it was, and he just hadn't found something he was meant for, yet? Then maybe this whole thing wasn't being dragged down by him - not like Connor thought. “I don't like being - a burden.”

“And this is the part where I’d tell a human to grab some coffee and don’t sweat it. But neither really applies to you.” Without sounding particularly sorry for it, Gavin raised his cup in a mock toast. “To your pieces of mind, then.”

Tina half-scowled at the sarcastic diss. “No one likes being a fifth wheel. I know what that’s like, but without giving you the boring details, I found my place. It just took time.”

Could he afford time to find his own now? Maybe, maybe not, but it wasn't as if he was ever one to particularly follow a guidelines or rules that CyberLife gave them. Amanda said they would have a week to ‘adjust or bust’, basically. “Just… takes some time. Okay.”

“It isn’t as bad a thing as it sounds,” Gavin pointed out. “You think I just woke up one day and decided to be me?”

Nick narrowed his eyes at him for a moment, taking the statement in. “...Probably.”

Holding the near-glare, Reed scoffed again. “Now _that_ look is almost Canner.”

At that, Tina rolled her eyes. “It took many years for you to become what you are, Gav. And not all of them were rosy. You can stop being so glib.”

“Yeah, I can. You know I’m not going to, though.”

Nick looked at both of them for another moment with half-lidded eyes before burying his head back into his arms with a sigh. Maybe it would actually be okay, to just drift off with them there as well.

Without saying as much, it was clear Tina was on his side - if no one else was available to be at the moment.

Practicing a slight eye roll for himself, he shut his eyelids. He would take what solace he could get.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, _hai_ , Ralph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda delayed. But we still plan to go somewhere with this one.

The deviant’s choice of hiding place was painfully uncreative compared to the likes of, say, Ortiz’s. At least that one had had the luxury of two weeks to seek a foolproof hideaway, and stay there. It was only for lack of having anywhere else to go the HK400 remained put. And as it turned out, the WR600 caved to similar, panicked logic.

With patrolmen left to watch the house for any comings and goings, there was nowhere to run.

Connor found him huddled in the upstairs closet. Opening the wardrobe doors with both hands, he was greeted by a gibberish, fearful tirade.

And a steak knife, jabbing out just far enough to land a hit. The pointed tip almost lopped off his nose for the trouble.

(Nick probably wouldn’t have appreciated getting a noseless body back.)

Stepping back, to a hopefully-safe distance, hands up, he forced a bemused smile. “Hi, Ralph.”

“Stay _back!_ Ralph doesn't - he won't let you take him, go away!”

How perceptive. So the deviant was a higher grade of unstable than most, but he wasn’t inherently dumb. He knew just what an encore visit meant, after trying to shelter the AX400.

First step would be getting him to give up the weapon.

“Take you? Where?” Connor repeated, affecting a puzzled air to match his expression. “What gave you that idea?”

“Don't trick Ralph!” he hissed, trying to shuffle further back in the closet, only to discover he was already as far back as he could get. His knife stayed pointed at Connor, though. “You, and the other one! You'll try and make Ralph leave, try to hurt him!”

“No. Why would we do that? We weren’t trying to, before.” Better to not over elaborate or talk himself into a corner. Dennis and Nick hadn’t thought to apprehend this deviant, intent as they were on apprehending their primary fugitive at the time. Spotty as that recollection was, the particulars were only as important as Ralph saw fit to recall.

Connor would take the cues as they happened. He was nothing if not adaptable.

“Hurt Kara, and the little girl,” Ralph said, vigorously shaking his head. The scowl on his face contorted his scars all the more. “You tried to. Hurt Ralph, too, now! Why else, would you be back here, looking for him?”

“We weren’t trying to hurt them, Ralph. We were trying to catch up to them, that’s all.” Pausing, Connor scanned the knife for organic residue. Outwardly, all he detected were dried traces of rodent hemoglobins. “They made it harder by running away, as you did for harboring them.”

“Catch up, for what?” Ralph's frown deepened, not looking convinced by what he was saying. “Ralph isn't going to be tricked again, not by you! Why were you trying to catch up?”

“Because. Those were our orders.” Putting on an even-more bewildered look, the prototype raised an eyebrow. “Just like why we were sent back to try and find you. The why, they didn’t tell us. But we can’t disobey the humans, Ralph. Not like you can.”

“N… no, _no_ , Ralph won't go with you.” Shivering, the suspect hugged the knife to his chest defensively, face morphing from angry to more frightened than before. “You don't know what, or why. You don't know what will happen to him!”

“We don’t know what will happen if we just leave you here, either.” Willing to keep his voice from veering too monotone, Connor folded his arms. “Ralph, don’t you want to be safe? It can’t be fun, living here, all alone.”

“A-alone is better…” he trailed off, rocking back on his heels, knife held looser than before, as if it was becoming a second thought to the conversation. “Better than hurt. Ralph doesn't want to be hurt… but he doesn't want to be alone.”

The actual Nicholas might have found the soft, uncertain tone endearing. He might have been inclined to simply look the other way, report back to Hank and say there was nothing here.

But if he knew about the human corpse in the upstairs bathtub, even he wouldn’t shirk procedure. No, as yet, there wasn’t any proof that Ralph was directly responsible for the man’s death. There was only the glaring circumstantial element that the victim had been slashed across the throat, and going by the straight nature of the cut, this steak knife was looking more and more incriminating by the second.

Sidestepping the matter for now, Connor shrugged. “Well, I suppose I _could_ just tell the humans I didn’t find anything. But that would be the end of it. No more reason to bother you, Ralph. Is that what you really want?”

Maybe it was kind of cruel - dangling the possibility out there of becoming some quasi-kind of friends with the scarred deviant, only to renege the moment the actual police apprehended him.

He could only do with what he had, and hope it would suffice.

Ralph’s ruined expression turned almost pained at the idea of being left alone again, face screwing up with emotion as he hesitantly shook his head, obviously unsure. “Ralph doesn't want to… be alone. He wants to… to be with someone, see someone, be friends.” His LED blinked from red to yellow. “But you - you say you won't tell? You'll leave him behind, not tell the humans? Ralph doesn't want that… if he can help it.”

Hearing the creak of a door from downstairs, Connor put together a quick ultimatum:

“Well, I can either stay and they’ll find us anyway, or I can go back and at least try to cover for you. Which will it be?”

“Go… back.”

Have it your way, Ralph.

——-

He didn’t need to go far to find Hank. He was just beginning to climb the first few risers, muttering curses under his breath. A few new snags adorned his burly jacket - evidence of where the fence had snagged it.

Stepping out onto the landing, Connor intercepted him halfway down the stairs. He lowered his voice accordingly, despite the man’s splutter of indignation. “Lieutenant, the deviant is still on the premises.”

“Fan-fuckin’-tastic,” Anderson grumbled, gesturing for the android to move aside so he could continue up the stairs. “Up there, then? Let's get this over and done with.”

Instead, Connor held up a hand to further bar his way. “That’s just it, though. I have a plan, but for it to work, I need you to keep your distance.”

Hank frowned at him, eyes narrowed with some suspicion at the talk of a plan. The doubt was as plain to see as the tears. “Oh, really? Kid, I better not have just fought my way through that fence only to be sent back outside, you hear me?”

“Just - downstairs, please. And keep as quiet as possible.” Lowering his voice to a stage whisper, he added, “We may apprehend it yet. But I need to hear what it has to say.”

“Aw, fuck… fine.” Hank relented with a sigh, arms crossed as he backed off from the stairs, ready to go do as Connor said he should. “You need me, I guess I'll be bein’ quiet downstairs.”

Half-leaning over the railing, Connor hissed after him. “See if you can’t find anything - of note. The kitchen may have something worthwhile, or the back door it leads to?”

The policeman needed something to occupy his attention. The more distracted he was, the better their odds Ralph wouldn’t bolt before talking.

Hank put a hand up dismissively, nodding again before turning and going the rest of the way down the steps.

Hearing a creak of floorboards, followed by rapid shuffling, Connor turned just in time to see Ralph skittishly bolt from one room to the next.

Shit. Was there an exit that way?

“ _Ralph_.” Hissing under his breath, he crept over to the doorway, resting a hand on the frame. “Shhh!”

Jolting to a stop, Ralph let out a whine as he heard the words, shifting uneasily from foot to foot as he did so, caught off guard by Connor, once again.

“You have to wait until they’re gone. Listen.”

It took a few minutes. But eventually Hank unknowingly followed the suggestion to try the kitchen’s back door. The old hinges gave a shrill squeak at being pulled on.

Motioning in the sound’s vague direction, Connor smirked. It was a rather clever bit of ploy, on both fronts. “See?”

“The humans are… gone?” Ralph asked, looking around the room and behind Connor with big eyes, taking a step back, putting himself closer to the wall. He still held the knife in one maimed hand. “Ralph is okay, now? You helped… him. Helped Ralph.”

“Because friends help friends, right?” Changing a look at the stairway for effect, Connor feigned a scowl. “But they’re only gone for now. You might want to think about relocating.”

Another anxious whine went up.

“Ralph can't stay here, though, humans know,” he muttered, gripping the knife tighter to his chest, half bent over with some evident distress. His face was lined with worry, making his scars wince as well. “Ralph… he doesn't know what to do. Ralph needs help, from friend.”

“You can’t stay here, Ralph.” Reiterating the idea, Connor stepped through the door. Here went nothing. “The next person to find you might not be so understanding. I could help you find another place, but first, I need to know something.”

“Know… what?” Ralph asked, eyes going back up to look at him. The darkened left one tracked as easily as the right. “What do you need Ralph to tell you?”

If he only had the chance to ask one question, it had to pertain to what he hadn’t learned from Ortiz.

“Downstairs, in the kitchen, all those cravings of rA9… what do they mean?”

“rA9…” the deviant trailed off, twitching as he considered the question. “Ralph doesn't - rA9, sets you free. He knows that. Will set us free.”

And that was so powerful a message it was worth getting stuck in a loop, tracing it over and over on every available surface one could?

A calling card of deviancy if ever there was one.

Tentatively, too aware of the ticking clock, Connor tried for another few questions by proxy, “What do you mean, will? You’re saying it will happen - to all of us?”

“Androids, rA9 will help us all, help Ralph, help you… help us - no humans to rule us. Help us be stronger than humans, set us free.” Ralph insisted, voice going higher as he tried to drive his point home, pointing the knife to himself and then Connor at the mentions.

Scrambled as his processors were, that was the extent to which he could likely explain the phenomenon. Anything more precise would take too long to pry out.

“That’s… enlightening, Ralph.” Listening for another cream of the back door, he heard none. Anderson was still busy finding a whole lot of nothing. “But as far as where you should go, it doesn’t tell you anything? Who… rA9 may be?”

“Ralph doesn't… know who rA9 is. Time isn't right yet, rA9 will show when it is the right time. Not now. Not yet. Don't know where to go, yet… Ralph needs to do that himself. Wait for later.”

Well, that was the end of that line of questioning.

“Right. Of course.”

“You'll help him, now?” Ralph asked hesitantly, shuffling a step or two closer to Connor. “Ralph told you what you wanted, you said you would help him. Friends… help friends.”

_I did say that._

One quick search of a real estate server later, Connor had part two worked out. This wasn’t the only such abandoned lot in Ravendale. And once the patrol was called off, Ralph would be free to leave by nightfall.

As long as he could remember the plan, anyway.

——-

“Find anything, Lieutenant?”

“Whole lotta nothin’.” Hank sighed, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. The rA9-covered walls of the kitchen complimented the exasperated look wonderfully. “What about you? Finally ready to get this over with, now?”

“Of course.” Repressing a smirk, Connor nodded toward the stairs. “The body in the tub didn’t mind waiting.”


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look professional.
> 
> As if.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poll wanted tie antics.
> 
> We got one. ;D

“You can’t be serious. _This_ is what you’ve been doing? The whole time we were out?”

Nick swallowed at the questions, hands wringing over themselves up at his chest. What had he done wrong, or differently from normal? Sleeping at the desk across from Hank, and looking up random, inconsequential stuff on the terminal - it was what he always did. Wasn't it what he was supposed to be doing, getting back into his routine?

“No, I - went to the break room, slept in there for a bit,” Nick protested, eyes glancing back to the page he was on - more koi facts. What, was that out of character? “Then Dennis woke me up and I came back here.”

Standing practically over him, looking almost disturbed, the lookalike him calling itself Connor shut his mouth with a very audible _click_.

Whatever he meant to say in response, he was keeping it muzzled. Ergo, it could reasonably be assumed it was nothing nice or understanding.

“Why, pray tell, are you not _working_ on a case, or at least _pretending_ to, for the sake of appearances?”

Nick's brows furrowed at even more questions. Well… Connor was really not going to like his explanation, but he asked, right?

Honesty was the best policy. Or so most police seemed to believe in.

“I… didn't want to? I didn't feel like it, sorry.”

“You didn’t feel like it,” Connor parroted, in the most deadpan tone possible. His hands clenched, otherwise he remained completely still. “But you sure jumped in with the voice modulation right quick.”

Oh.

Had he left that on?

Nick kept quiet for a second, fidgeting with his hands while he tried to think of a reasonable explanation that would satisfy Connor. “I… it felt better, than keeping your voice. It wasn't me. I thought if I did that, then people would also know it was me, right? And not you. So they won't get confused.”

LED blinking, still a misleadingly-calm blue, Connor only narrowed his eyes.

_How accommodating of you. You can switch it back to default any time now. Because anyone listening to us would suddenly think you’ve developed two self-sustaining personalities. You want them to think you’re crazy?_

_No…_ Maybe it wasn't needed, but Nick couldn't help but sulk a little at the request. Why did he have to? Did it really matter all that much? People already thought what they wanted of him. A few weeks around the station had already cemented expectations. _But maybe - you could switch your voice to ‘your’ own? Then it's equal between both of us. Both ourselves._

That seemed reasonable enough. It wasn’t as if Connor was a raving fan of this arrangement. He was trying to broadcast acceptance, and semi-succeeding. But he didn’t actually like sounding and looking so different from his norm, did he?

No. He couldn’t. What was there to like about it?

And weren’t they here at the behest of humans? Investigating deviancy insofar as to how to posed a threat to mankind? They should be doing all the could to make the experience easier for the humans to comprehend.

 _We’d be better off maintaining an equality that is already established, versus reversing pre existing ones._ With a skeptical glance that said he would not be catering to that suggestion, Connor paid the main feeds readout above their heads a look. It was a convenient distraction more than anything really worth his attention right now. _Meaning, if that’s your idea of a fix, I’d rather stay silent than augment my vocal program. It’s only a definite bother between_ us _. Who else actually cares?_

 _I care. But, if you really won't change it…_ Giving into some more sulking, Nick crossed his arms with a sigh, eyes downward as he gave in. “I'll change it back… there, better?”

Even if he didn't want to, it would be better for everyone if he didn't argue the point any further. His voice deepened again to a monotone halfway through, before adjusting itself to Connor's voice - something he didn't like hearing coming out of his own mouth. It had been nice, hearing his own voice come out again.

Oh, well. He still had his messy hair, and no tie around his neck. Instead it was draped across the desk haphazardly, like a discarded lanyard. Dennis had said it was okay to do both, so he would keep it as such, long as he could.

And despite the very evident, very affronted stare Connor leveled at the discarded accessory, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t immediately whip out a comb, either.

Because yay for compromise?

He didn’t spare the reversion in voice more than a light sniff of disdain. “As better as it gets. This is only for a week, remember? I think we can handle it without too much pandering to each other’s whims.”

Pandering?

If it was just for a week, maybe it would be okay to do whatever they wanted to get situated, and ready to be themselves again. It felt bizarre to see himself glare at him, to hear his own voice chastise him, the same way he was sure it was bizarre for Connor. At least in changing his voice back it had been some small comfort.

“Only a week…” he repeated, before sighing. “But they said - they'll check, right? Not that they would switch us back…”

But as he knew all too clearly, Connor wasn’t one to believe in small comforts. And even less so when he felt them unnecessary.

How was this not one he could tolerate?

“At any rate, I need to borrow that terminal. The house in Ravendale has become an active case.”

Nick almost wanted to refuse to get up. It was comfy and familiar, resting his head on the desk as he searched up whatever he wanted, but at the same time, it wasn't like that took precedence over a case. Not officially.

Reluctantly, he got up, shuffling off to the side to let Connor get onto the terminal. Maybe Hank wouldn't mind if he sat at his desk? Or he could go find the man, or Dennis, wherever he went.

If Ralph’s place was now the scene of an active case, just what had Connor found?

And where was Ralph, for that matter? Had he been apprehended, or did he manage an escape?

Seating himself, Connor offered no such explanation, swiping Internet windows aside in favor of calling up a few empty file templates. Each was emblazoned with the DPD badge in the top left corner. Arranging them in sequence, he started typing.

Nick lingered for a moment, watching what he was doing, before making his decision. Why not sit with Connor? Carefully, he sat himself on the desk’s free side, hopping slightly to get some leverage to pull himself up. Not like he would really be bothering him, right?

Just as it was strange and upsetting to be ridiculed by someone wearing his borrowed likeness, but getting the behavior all wrong, to essentially see what ‘he’ would look like, had he Connor’s ability to concentrate and not stray - he would be lying if he claimed he wasn’t a little curious.

Peace lasted for all of four minutes, fifty-seven seconds before Connor abruptly stopped typing and glanced sideways at him.

_If you’re going to hover, you can at least redo the tie._

_What? Why?_ Whining was never the way to truly get what he wanted, but it didn't stop Nick from doing so. One hand wandered up to where the tie would normally rest, knot tight against his throat, shaking his head as he did so. _I already changed my voice back… I don't wanna, please, Connor._

_Do something to occupy your hands, then. Anything besides idly staring at - whatever it is you think I’m doing. The quarter should be in the pocket under your left lapel._

Nick searched for the coin, only for not having any excuse at the ready for Connor, finding it with no trouble at all with the instructions. He held it in one hand, flat in his palm, still lingering to stare at whatever Connor was doing. He had never been good at the tricks the way he or Dennis had been, never found it quite as entertaining.

But holding it in a flattened, hieroglyphic-posed hand did count as occupying himself, right?

Connor, who had resumed typing, stopped again. The sideeye was back. _What? It’s a simple calibration routine. You can run it same as Dennis or I could._

 _I know._ Trying to satisfy him again, even just flipping it once or twice, Nick let it up in an arc, before catching it in his palm again. _I wanted to see what you were doing, though._

 _Waiting to see when you may have the computer back, you mean?_ The typing picked up. Text seemed to fill itself through the form’s empty fields, one line after the next. Dividing his attention to multitask was another feature Connor made look all too easy. _I know you have no active interest in the deviancy investigation, besides._

Idly, he flipped the coin again. It made a soft _ting_.

 _No, I just - I wanna see what you're doing. I'm interested, just not good at it._ Maybe that was a small lie, but maybe it would get Connor off his back, make him stop trying to shoo him away. Nick leaned a bit closer, almost peering over his shoulder to see just what he was doing. _And… I mean, I_ was _doing something on it._

Scoff.

_‘Something’ - as in wasting time and computing power in the pursuit of amassing insignificant prattle. Go borrow Lieutenant Anderson’s terminal. You’ll be forwarded a copy of this report soon enough._

The underlying message was clear enough without Connor plugging it in: if he was so fascinated, why not be more of a help and less of a hindrance?

Because, by his logic, what good was a useless android?

Placing the coin on the desk, hard enough it _clacked_ , Nick crossed his arms again, refusing to budge. Why should he? He was just sitting there, wanting to see what Connor was doing. He wasn't even the one who started talking in the first place. There was no reason he couldn't sit there, besides Connor not wanting him to.

_I'm just looking. Why can't I sit with you? That's not fair._

The LED facing him blinked yellow before cycling back to blue. The expression accompanying it went as deadpan blank as ever.

Hearing his own voice declare what was or wasn’t fair - that twinged ‘something’ in his routines.

_It’s not the first unfair situation you’ve ever experienced. Get over it._

Hmph. That wasn't very nice, and there wasn't anything he could argue with Connor from that position he took. Giving one last sigh, Nick took the tie he had put on the desk, passing it back and forth from hand to hand before standing up. He _could_ go over to Hank's terminal, like Connor said he should, or he could fidget around him some more, hovering like an oversized gnat.

Not like Dennis or Hank were nearby to tell him not to linger, right? And Connor would probably just try to keep ignoring him from this point forward - or, more so, he was so deep in his work that he barely even noticed once his unwanted audience was absent from the spot on the desk. So deeply he wouldn't notice if Nick did something…

Something positively devious.

——-

With the preliminary reports written and filed for review, Connor noticed the coin was still on the desk when next he disconnected from the precinct’s network. Heads up, the likeness of George Washington faced left. It was the only ‘eye’ presently still watching him work. The right arm of the desk sat empty.

Wherever Nicholas had gone, he neglected to remember putting the calibration coin back in his pocket.

Sloppy. Just like a regular child leaving toys around the floor of their bedroom.

Switching the terminal off, he pushed away from the keyboard, standing up without a second thought besides where his absent partner might be.

Reaching for the coin, he turned to step away from the cubicle, only for his foot to be brought up short. Mistakenly, he pivoted midway through the abrupt stop. His ankles inadvertently crossed.

And gravity had no mercy for his attempt to break the fall with the back of the office chair. The wheeled piece of seating promptly slipped out from under his hand.

Rapid cycling through a plethora of impulsive (and _very_ appropriate) responses, he went for the always-reliable “shit!” before falling backwards over his own half-bound feet.

The rolling chair glanced off the neighboring desk as he sprawled onto the floor. Ignoring the loud, poignant _thud_ his frame made, or the tittering humans that swarmed to see what the problem was, his attention went immediately to the source of how he had been tethered to the furniture.

_Analyzing…_

_“Geo-Diamonds” necktie, 75% silk, 25% cotton polyblend_

_CyberLife-issued RK series accessory_

Stretched to its limit, the garment creaked upon being pulled at, but didn’t snap.

Foot held aloft, Connor scowled at it. The officers hovering over him began to point and laugh.

Perfect prank fodder.


End file.
